Dark, Forbidden Beauty
by Earonn
Summary: A birthday-fic for Soledad. Gildor Inglorion prepares a special birthday present for the High King...


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Dark, Forbidden Beauty

by Earonn

Disclaimer: it bases on Tolkien's great works and on our birthday-girl's wonderful interpretation of them.

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Happy Birthday, Soledad!

*sticks out tongue*

I've stolen one of your phrases! Orc-cookies, if you find out which! 

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A/N:

Soledad, I wasn't aware of your wishes for the birthday-fics. This story came to me one evening when I already had given up any hope that I could write something for you. Please don't ask me why *I* dare to write slash!

Good-bye to you all....because Master Elrond will kill me for this! But someone *had* to do it! 

Help for the readers: Due to Soledad's own interpretations Gil Galad is in this story 'played' – no, let's say he has a striking resemblance to the great actor Julian McMahon. Maybe the nose is a little shorter in order to please Elrond... ;)))

Last remark (I swear!): Unfortunately I had no beta-reader for this. Please excuse all the silly faults. If one of you feels called upon to make a beta-reading I would be endlessly grateful (and give you many orc-cookies).

Los geht's: 

;)

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Dark, Forbidden Beauty

Already since dawn the palace of Lindon was busy and in excitement. Every visitor, no matter how unfamiliar with its usual routine, could have seen that a great feast was prepared. And while he or she would have wondered about it as none of the common annual celebrations lay ahead, every single inhabitant of the palace and the city of Mithlond was well aware of the reason and only the more happy about it. 

For tomorrow would be the 1052nd anniversary of their High King's begetting day. 

Elrond Peredhel normally fled too much bustle but today he strolled around, lending a helping hand wherever one was needed, talking, laughing and as happy as everyone else, from the cleaning maidens up to the highest dignitaries. 

Tomorrow would be a good day. It would be *his* day. 

A kind smile was upon the fair face of Eärendil's son. *His* day, his King's, his friend's, his cousin's – his beloved's day. Might this love remain unrequited until the end of Arda itself, he would stick to it and it gave him strength. 

If only...

When his thoughts reached this point for about the fiftieth time this afternoon, someone came from behind and pulled playfully at a strand of his dark hair. 

"Elrond! Master Elrond, indeed! And in high moods! Hear yea, all thou around, behold this omen of good luck for our King! If even the grumpy Master-"

Elrond spun around, ignoring the pain – for the other did not loosened his grip – and laid his hand in a not too gentle manner on the Elf's mouth. 

"You may mock me, Gildor Inglorion," he said in a sharp voice, "but you will *not* mock the High King!"

He felt Gildor smile behind his palm and then a gentle kiss on the sensitive skin. Quickly he dropped his hand. 

"It was nothing but a small joke, Elrond," the other Elf said with an expression that could be sincerely rueful as well as mischievous. "You're too seldom in such a great mood, admit it!" He broke into laughter and Elrond could not help following his example. Side by side they strolled through the busy hallway. 

"Shouldn't you be in the stables to prepare the horses for tomorrow?," Elrond asked. 

"Oh, the horses are well prepared." Gildor lifted a slender but nonetheless strong hand to push back his golden hair behind a neatly pointed ear. Then he repeated the gesture with one of Elrond's silky dark plaits. "I thought – given that you have been as diligent as I – we could held a small...celebration for ourselves. Just you and I and our happiness. How does that sound?"

"Gildor, you know that there will be enough festivity in the Great Hall tonight. And I would prefer not to miss a single heartbeat's time of this."

"I know and never would I try to come between you and an old ballad. But as you know well enough the singing and storytelling will start only after midnight. Time enough for us. See," he laid a hand on Elrond's arm to stop the Half-elven's steps, "it's been a long time for me and according to the look in your eyes I'd say also for you. Let's have some fun and then congratulate Gil Galad in a better mood." The hand crept up to Elrond's shoulder and then to his neck, well knowing where and how to touch to emphasise and support the suggestion. 

Elrond sighed. Yes, it had been too long. He longed for somebody's embrace, for gentle touches, kisses, passion. And that was the problem: he longed for the touches of someone special, for the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. For a handsome as well as wise and humorous man. When he closed his eyes, he always saw the tall, dark, forbiddingly beautiful image of the High King before him, making the blood rush in his veins, his heart pounding heavily. How much he wished to touch Gil Galad's dark hair, stroke his face - 'make him shudder with desire', hissed a passionate voice inside him fiercely – to lie in his arms or to have him in his own. 

But these were silly dreams and as he could not have the one he truly wanted, he preferred to have no one at all. 

"Elrond, you're brooding. Again, I might add. What good comes from denying your body the pleasure it craves for? Does it help you performing your tasks? Surely not, you're as nervous as a young horse." The hand was at the Halfelven's ear now, caressing it from lobe to point, then glided down to the throat, making the skin tingle with pleasure. 

Finally the son of Eärendil gave in. He would allow himself some pleasure this night – and maybe he would also allow himself to think forbidden thoughts while he was in Gildor's arms....

After they've parted Gildor Inglorion went to his own room, exceptionally pleased with his success. It was more than just lust that had brought him to Elrond. 

He had something special in mind for the coming celebrities. 

********************

"They are happy, Ereinion. They do this not for the High King of the Noldor, they do it for *you*."

Círdan the Shipwright stood beside Gil Galad at one of the high windows of the King's library, watching the busy crowd in the main courtyard. 

"Yes, Círdan, I know. And I have doubts I deserve it. Nonetheless I'm very happy."

"Oh, even if you don't deserve their love – life is unfair, isn't it? So why shouldn't it give you more than you deserve instead of taking too much?" The mariner patted the younger Elf's back. "We will have a splendid feast tomorrow. And for tonight I've found some awesome stories of my people, stories with dreadful sea-monsters and ruthless pirates and – what is it?"

"Sea-monsters and pirates?" The King arched a dark brow in inquiring amusement.

"Well, to prevent the others from becoming confused I will inform them, of course, that these are special stories kept for this occasion since you loved them as a little child so much that- Aaah! Impudent elfling, stop this!" 

Both laughed until they were disturbed by a shy knock on the door. 

"Come!" Gil Galad said loudly. 

A young Telerin Elf peeked into the room. "Excuse me, my lords. The ship is ready, Lord Círdan."

"Ah, thank you," the old Elf replied. "I'll come at once." He turned to Gil Galad. "I will be back this evening. And *maybe* - I don't promise anything – I will have found some other stories to please you. Stories of beautiful mermaids..."

"Oh, go away, you pest!"

"...dark haired...."

"I thought your ship is waiting?"

"...with beautiful grey eyes..."

"Círdan!"

"...and exquisite pointed ears. Until then, High King." He laughed, evaded a playful blow aimed at his neck and was gone. 

With his words having exactly the effect he wanted them to have: Gil Galad turned back to the window but this time he saw nothing of the whirl outside. Before his eyes was the image of a young Elf with hair just a shade darker than his own and a look of endless trust in the shining grey eyes. Círdan was right, Elrond's ears were beautiful, invitingly beautiful. How might it be to touch them, feel the smooth skin, caress them, taste them, having them under his lips until the young Half-elven moaned with pleasure...

He shook his head. Inappropriate and unhealthy for the High King of the Noldor to indulge in silly day-dreams. Elrond was a good assistant, his kin, even a friend. He should be content with what the One had granted him instead of longing for something the Half-elf apparently was not willing to give. 

His heart, however, ignored all wisdom of nearly 1051 years on Arda and ached out of yearning and much too long concealed love. 

********************

After Dinner Gildor Inglorion made his preparations. He put out a second set of clothes, took three short silken scarves and went to Elrond's rooms. On the way he met a cheerfully whistling Círdan who carried a small package wrapped in deep blue cloth. 

"Greetings, Lord of Mithlond. You seem happy enough this evening."

"Greetings also, young one. I assume I will see you this night in the hall?"

Gildor smiled. Yes, Círdan would see him. 'Not on your life I would want to miss it,' he thought, 'your face when Gil Galad comes in after he got his...present.' 

"Of course you will," he said aloud. "May I ask what's in this so mysterious package?"

The Shipwright laughed. "Oh, it's my present for the High King but you are *not* to tell him a single word!"

Faking a hurt expression Gildor answered, "As if I ever would!"

The old Elf unfolded the cloth and there was a beautiful carved ship of wood, about the length of a cubit, in every detail as beautiful as any ship made by Telerin hands. 

"It's marvellous," Gildor said. "What is it for?" 

The question made the Shipwright laughing out loud. It took several attempts until he was able to answer. 

"This, my young friend, this is the exact copy of the 'Aglareb'." Círdan took distinct delight in Gildor's blank look. He put a hand on the younger Elf's shoulder to draw him near and whispered like to a fellow conspirator, "The 'Aglareb' was the ship a certain elfling took with him to the bathtub many years ago." He winked and Gildor gaped in understanding. 

"You won't dare to give Gil Galad this..."

"We'll see," was the gleeful answer and then the Shipwright was gone, whistling again a song of the Teleri. (1)

Teleri! Gildor Inglorion laughed silently and continued on his way. 

When he reached the door of Elrond's room, he entered without knocking. The owner of the chamber looked up from a small book he was writing in, blushing and closing the book much too hastily. 

"Ah, let me guess: a little birthday-present for our dearest cousin?" Gildor said. "Whatever it is – I am sure he will love it. You have a good taste in books, O well-read son of Eärendil!"

"Are you here to mock me again or do we have some fun this evening?" Elrond answered almost angrily. This anger, however, was based more in his own insecurity if Gil Galad would indeed like the gift. The book contained various songs, stories and poems which were frequently sang and recited at the court of the High King Fingon during the early youth of his son – Elrond had gathered them since several years now and hoped that Gil Galad would like to read again what he had heard in his childhood.

"For fun," Gildor said. He approached Elrond and embraced him. "Unless you have changed your mind?" He made sure that this was not the case by kissing the other Elf gently, in the way he knew Elrond loved most. 

Indeed the so kissed moaned deep within his throat and gave in to the lips that pleasured him so much. They had shared this kind of pleasure often enough and knew each other's preferences, without any word they lowered themselves on the bed, kissing and touching and soon the room was filled with moans and gasps of passion. 

"Let me try something new," Gildor whispered while he pressed his naked body to Elrond's. Oh, the Half-elven was beautiful, so enticing in his slender strength – but he had other plans tonight. 

"Hm," Elrond rumbled comfortably, "and what might it be, pray tell?"

"This." Taking the silken scarves Gildor bound first one of Elrond's wrists to a bedpost, then the other. Elrond looked curiously but didn't object. 

"And this." The last of the scarves was used to blindfold the dark-haired Elf. Then Gildor let his hand glide down, over ageless cheeks, a sensitive jaw, a trembling throat and a well-muscled chest – not forgetting to brush one erect nipple – down, down, stroking the skin of a flat stomach until he reached needful hardened flesh. His victim writhed beneath the touch and moaned. "Go on! Gildor, for the Valar's sake-"

"I will go on, dear friend. I – oh, stars!"

He was surprised how natural the curse sounded. 

"What is it?" Elrond asked. 

"The oil – it's empty. Wait here, only a few minutes. I will fetch one from my room."

Ere Elrond could think about if the bottle had been empty when he put it on the drawer beside the bed, Gildor put on his robe and left the room. 

Outside he smiled viciously. So far, so good. He went to his own room change into fitting clothes, then he run towards the library where Gil Galad usually was to find at this time of the day. 

Today, too, the habits of the Noldorin King were reliable. Gil Galad sat in a chair, a candlestick to his left, a low table with a bottle and a glass of red wine at his right. When Gildor entered the room, he looked up, his face curious and friendly. 

"Good evening, Gildor Inglorion."

"Good evening, my King," Gildor answered. "I bring to you a message from Elrond Peredhel."

Gil Galad frowned. "Since exactly when do you deliver messages for Elrond of all people?"

'Stars! He's much too attentive!' Gildor thought, then forced himself to a faked sour smile. 

"Since I owe him a favour, mylord. It's a long story I won't bother you with. It pleased the son of the Great Mariner to use this favour to make me his messenger-boy."

Gil Galad laughed. The two young princes' ongoing contest for his own favour was often annoying but sometimes also very entertaining. "Poor Gildor Inglorion. Well, deliver your message and I promise that no one will hear about this...abuse."

Gildor's delight was genuine, though based in something other than relief. "Thank you, my King. Elrond Peredhel requests you to visit him in his room as soon as possible since he has a special gift for you."

"A gift? Today?"

"This were his words, Majesty. I don't know what it is."

Gil Galad closed his book. This didn't sound like something Elrond would do. On the other hand – everyone had the right to do something unusual – from time to time and given he was not the High King of the Noldor. 

"Well, then I see no other possibility but following his request. Thank you, Gildor." He put out the candles and the only remaining light in the room came from the hearth. 

Therefore Gil Galad couldn't see the smug smile on the blond Elf's face. Perfect. Gil Galad would go to Elrond, Elrond would assume it was him, Gildor, and surely call him such. And that would be highly entertaining. 

Both might be unaware of their mutual feelings, but he was not. Gildor Inglorion would never be one of the countless blind fools who populated the High King's court. 

It was unfair! Elrond was a good scholar, but he was by no means better than many others. Gil Galad only favoured him because he had his own special liking for the fair son of Eärendil. As soon as this liking would wither, also the star of Elrond would sink, that was for sure! 

With a bitter smile on his face Gildor watched Gil Galad heading towards Elrond's room. 

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Elrond waited patiently. Gildor had fastened the scarves not too tight and the thought of what was to happen was enough to keep his blood racing. The friendship between him and Gildor had cooled remarkably over the past years, the more arousing was the thought of being completely at Gildor's mercy. The need he had so long suppressed now made his whole body ache. He wanted it. He needed it, whatever Gildor intended to do. Just get the desire fulfilled, with the image of his beloved King before his eyes...

The door opened again and he heard Gildor step in. 

"You're late," he said with a smile. 

"I...did not know what awaited me," came the harsh whisper. The footsteps approached. 

Did not know? What could Gildor possibly mean? Elrond cleared his throat. "Gil-"

"Shhh!" Soft fingertips suddenly were on his lips. "Yes. It's me." Again the voice was merely a whisper. The fingertips caressed his lips and this gesture alone made him moan. Then Elrond felt strong hands caressing his body, from the wrists to the ankles. Patiently, finding his most sensitive places with blind certainty, making him ready again in no time. Beneath the blindfold he closed his eyes. Gil Galad as he had seen him this morning. As he had been yesterday, riding on a black horse. As he was sitting in the library, absorbed in a book. One image after the other, the beauty that consisted not only of a handsome face but of the fëa itself.

'If only it would be you, my beloved,' he thought. 

When the other's lips found his he initially answered with raw passion. But it was a gentle kiss, soft, kind, full of affection and soon Elrond found back to his normal calmness and replied in a similar way. It was so good to be kissed after all this time...

He broke away and moved his lips up his partner's cheeks, to the high cheek-bone and then to a sensitive ear, making the other Elf moan. His body writhed under the strong and cunning hands. Dazed with desire he arched his back.

"Take me," he whispered.

********************

The half moon was high at the nightly sky when they ceased their lovemaking. For the third time Elrond felt Gildor sinking down on him, panting and sweat-covered in the aftermath of their passion. It was the most fulfilling experience he had ever had, with every touch, every movement of the other's body been exactly what he had wanted most. 

Elrond pressed a small kiss on the warm, wet skin of a cheek beside his head. "I think we have had enough for this night."

"Hm," came the monosyllable yet content answer. 

"Then what about giving me the ability to embrace you?" He pulled suggestively at his still bound wrists. 

His companion didn't answer, but the scarves were clumsily removed. Elrond slipped them off, then he got hold of the blindfold. "May I also have a look at you, my friend?" he asked with a laugh. 

"If you wish." Oddly enough Gildor's voice sounded different, deep and warmer than usual. Elrond shrugged while he put off the scarf. It was this situation that made it sound different and-

No!

It could not be! Not him!

Frozen Elrond looked at the High King who was lying beside him, eyes closed, with a content and peaceful expression on his beautiful face. 

Footnotes:

(1) The idea that Círdan the Shipwright should carve anything for Gil Galad comes from my beloved, Erik. With greetings and best birthday wishes to you, Soledad! :)

(2) Thanks to the Kiwis: it took half a bottle of fine white New Zealand wine to help me writing this. It's my first slash, you know...


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